Requiem for a Cuddle review | Melbourne Fringe | Fitzroy Town Hall

Taking my seat for Requiem for a Cuddle, it was hard not to feel intimidated and curious. I mean it's not every day you walk into a room to be surrounded by an 80-strong choir all wearing black suits, standing still and staring at us. All wearing black balaclavas. It’s this strange, surreal sight that Harrison Ritchie-Jones plays with, blending choral singing, dance and movement, and sound into an experience that sparks a profound sense of community and connection. Amid this eerie, mesmerizing tableau, two human bodies emerge, guiding us into the choreography and linking us intimately and communally.



Paired with Michaela Tancheff, the two perform hypnotic sequences that reveal the intricacies of the body and its remarkable capabilities, their muscles coiling and stretching in seamless rhythm. The support and strength they offer one another to succeed mirrors that which we need in our own lives. At one point, they collapse to the floor in a tight wrap, rolling gracefully down the aisle and through the audience, drawing us into their shared dependence and vulnerability.



Nick Roder’s phenomenal score unfolds with the Melbourne Cuddle Choir, whose voices thread the performance with precision, charm, and occasional (delightful) coughs. Their singing swells and dips, enveloping the audience from all sides, carrying us into moments of intimacy, absurdity, and wonder. Every note dances with the choreography, amplifying the atmosphere that Ritchie-Jones and Tancheff conjure on stage.



A light-hearted unpredictability courses through the piece. It’s like being in a dream that feels real, where peculiar things happen that shouldn’t. Such as the sudden appearance of a trumpet-playing goose angel (Fabian Acuna). Designed by Andrew Treloar, it’s a breathtaking outfit made from a mix of white materials - feathers, paint, and textures - that looks as if it's been lifted straight from the 1985 Alice in Wonderland film adaptation. It’s this playful blurring of the fantastical and the authentic that Ritchie-Jones and his team achieve with impressive skill.



Requiem for a Cuddle carries a gentle release, an embrace that seems to ripple inside the venue. Watching people’s faces, you can see it: they look lighter, they’re smiling, and it’s not just because it was a brilliant show, but because it reminds us of the invisible threads of care and trust that shape how we move through the world, and most importantly, what it means to hold and to be held.

Requiem for a Cuddle was performed at Fitzroy Town Hall on 11 October as part of the Melbourne Fringe Festival.

Image credit: Jordan James Kaye